


Better Late Than Never

by dsa_archivist



Category: due South
Genre: Drama, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-09-26
Updated: 1999-09-26
Packaged: 2018-11-10 06:04:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11121369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dsa_archivist/pseuds/dsa_archivist
Summary: A kidnapping stirs up the past for Ray K.





	Better Late Than Never

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Speranza, the archivist: this story was once archived at [Due South Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Due_South_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in June 2017. I tried to reach out to all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Due South Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/duesoutharchive).

Better Late Than Never

 

 

Disclaimer: The whole kit and caboodle of characters belongs to Alliance,  
except the criminal and the victim. This story is only for our mutual,  
non-profit enjoyment. Any similarity between this story and any part  
of the real world is lucky on my part. Apologies in advance for any misrepresentation  
of the Chicago area.  
  
Notes: This is my first fanfic, please be kind. It's a bit grim, but  
neither bloody nor smutty. Comments, flames, and good recipies can be  
sent to.  
  
Better Late Than Never  
By Aldebaran  
  


********  


  
        "Another girl is  
missing."

        Lieutenant Welsh crossed  
the busy squad room to stand by the desk of Ray Vecchio. "You hear  
me, Vecchio?" Ray nodded absently, ear pressed to the phone as  
his head bobbed along with the voice on the other end of the line.

        "Uh huh. Yeah.  
Yeah. Whatever." The detective hung up, running his hand through  
his short bond hair as he scribbled some notes on the corner of a Chinese  
takeout menu. "Sorry, Lieutenant, you say something?"

        "I said, another  
girl is missing, grabbed out of the parking lot at the University. I  
want you to get over there and see what you can see." Welsh held  
out a piece of paper with the name and number of the University contact  
written in his precise, no-nonsense script.

        "That's not my case,  
that's Huey's case. Not that I don't wanna help," the detective  
said as he got to his feet, reaching for his jacket, "but I got  
this tip on the Gambril case I gotta follow up, and then�"

        "They just found  
a body, they think it's of the first girl. Huey's out checking on that,  
and I need someone to go to the University. And that someone,"  
said the Lieutenant as he caught the detective's right hand and placed  
the paper in it, "is you. So get going." With that, Welsh  
turned his back and walked away from Ray. Ray looked at the paper in  
his hand, at the retreating back of his superior, and decided it would  
be far, far easier to just go to the University, take a few statements,  
and then get back to his own cases. Catching sight of the bright red  
serge of Fraser's uniform as the Mountie entered the room, Ray decided  
that two would make the job go more quickly than one. "Hey Fraser,  
c'mon with me. I'll explain in the car."

*****

        "So this is the  
third girl to go missing?" The two had finally arrived in the correct  
university parking lot, and Ray pulled his car up behind one of the police  
cruisers. He had filled Fraser in on the grim facts of the case, such  
as they were, on the ride over. Two young women, both in their early  
twenties, grabbed off of the campus in the space of a week. No witnesses,  
no demands for ransom, and not much in the way of evidence. And until  
today, no bodies, but an unpleasant discovery in one of the city parks  
had put an end to the hopes that these women had disappeared of their  
own volition. At least I get to deal with live people, thought Ray.  
Dealing with the dead's no way to start a week.

        "Yeah, Fraser, unless  
this one ran off with her boyfriend and left us a nice note, she's the  
third. What's the story, O'Brien?" The detective crossed over  
to the beat cop, who was holding a brown leather bag in her hand.

        "Campus police found  
the car like this on a routine check of the parking lots this morning.  
Door open, purse on the ground, nobody around. Surprised the car's still  
here, frankly." The officer handed Ray the wallet, which he flicked  
open and began to rummage through.

        "Cash here, credit  
cards, so no robbery�" He trailed off as he pulled the driver's  
license out from behind a University library card.

        "Ray? Is there  
a problem?" Fraser glanced over his partner's shoulder at the I.D.  
Elizabeth Markham, 31 years old, with a washed out license photo showing  
only that she was white, with long dark hair. "A little older than  
the others. Does that concern you?" Ray hadn't moved, or spoken,  
only stood looking at the photo. "Ray. Ray. Ray?"

        The detective shook himself  
as if emerging from deep water. "Yeah. No. What the hell�what  
happened here?" He stared around the crime scene, looking suspiciously  
at the blue Honda. "Yeah, that's her car, why didn't I�"  
He circled warily around the car as Fraser watched, concerned. "Is  
that it? Just her purse, nothing else? Don't tell me there's nothing  
here, I know there's something, gotta be something. Gotta be."

        O'Brien gestured to one  
of the other cops on the scene. "Well, since you asked, there is."  
The other man handed her an evidence bag, which Ray snatched out of her  
hand. "We found it rolled under the car. We figured he used it  
to subdue her, and must have forgotten it. Maybe someone came by, scared  
him off." The bag contained a long screwdriver, bloody over halfway  
up the six-inch blade.

        "That's his blood,  
not hers." Ray cradled the bag gently in his hands. "She  
got him before he got her. Got him good, too." He shook his head  
slowly. "No blood on the ground though. Didn't get him hard enough."

        Fraser cocked his head.  
"Ray, there really is no reason to believe that it isn't her blood.  
Though there were no weapons found at the other scenes, that doesn't  
mean this wasn't a slip up on his part. It's far more likely that he  
brought the screwdriver and dropped it, than to think Ms. Markham carried  
it on her person. After all, a screwdriver is not a common weapon of  
self-defense. Of course, I am not sure as to what percentage of violent  
crimes are committed by criminals armed with screwdrivers. I'm sure  
the FBI's criminal statistics�"

        "It's hers. She  
didn't have it on her, it was in the car." Ray leaned through the  
open car door and peered under the passenger seat. "She kept it  
here, between the parking brake and the seat." Turning, Ray paced  
away from the car and back again. "She must have heard him coming,  
reached in, grabbed it, and wham!" The detective gestured violently  
with the evidence bag in his hand. "Right into him. But he got  
her anyway. Son of a bitch." He handed the evidence bag back to  
O'Brien and stepped away from the forlorn blue Honda, reaching in his  
pocket for his phone.

        Fraser took this opportunity  
to inspect the scene, finding a few small streaks of blood on the ground,  
a dent in the side of the car that could have been caused by a struggle,  
but little else of use. Whatever the assailant did, he did it quickly,  
cleanly, and professionally. The dropped screwdriver was the best clue  
so far, though if Ray was correct, it might not even have the fingerprints  
of the attacker on it, and thereby be almost useless.

        "Frannie, I need  
you to do something for me. Hey, this is work, you know, work, when  
you get paid to do what I tell you? Right. Call around to local hospitals,  
I need to know if any guy has come in, or comes in, with what looks like  
a deep puncture wound. Like with a screwdriver." Ray pulled his  
head away from the phone and grimaced at it before he spoke again. "You  
heard me. Yours is not to wonder why, just do it. Call me if you hear  
anything." He hung up as Fraser approached. "Find anything  
else?"

        "Not much,"  
Fraser replied, pointing out the bits of evidence he had observed. "By  
grabbing them out in the open, he minimizes his chances of leaving fingerprints,  
although he increases the possibility he might be seen. Perhaps we should  
do a canvas of the area, and see if anyone heard or saw anything?"

        Ray nodded. "The  
street cops can start that. Let's go to her department. Maybe someone  
saw her leave, knows if anyone's been bothering her." He squinted  
across the parking lot, looking in all directions. "Uhhh�.that  
way. C'mon." Ray waved at O'Brien, and headed out across the lot  
towards a tall brick building on it's far side.

        "If you don't mind  
my asking, Ray, how well do you know the victim?" Fraser had just  
caught up to Ray when the detective stopped still and glared at him.

        "Whaddaya mean,  
how well did I know her? What kind of question is that?" Ray's  
blue eyes were cold and angry, and Fraser took a step back from his partner,  
choosing his words carefully.

        "Well, Ray, given  
the fact that you knew Ms. Markham carried a screwdriver in her car,  
and where it was carried, I must assume that you had met her before,  
in a capacity where you could learn such information. Perhaps a garage?  
A community self-defense class?" Ray snorted, looking at the ground,  
at Fraser's shiny boots, at anything other than his face.

        "I knew her, that's  
all. I met her. Around. Does it matter?" Ray started walking  
again, long strides carrying him across the parking lot. Again, Fraser  
moved to catch up, and walked besides him for a few paces before speaking  
again.

        "Well, no, Ray,  
I suppose it doesn't matter. Unless you know something about her which  
might contribute to solving the case?" Ray shook his head but gave  
no reply. The two crossed the parking lot, up a flight of stairs cut  
into the hillside, and across the bustling quad. Ray sliced through  
the crowd, not looking to either side, and Fraser followed quietly, until  
they reached a long grey building. Ray stopped in front, looking up  
and down the outside of the building as if he expected to see a message  
printed there. Fraser hesitated. "Um, Ray? Why have we stopped?"

        "Can't remember  
the floor." Ray reached out and grabbed the arm of a passing student.  
"Hey. What floor's Philosophy on?"

        "Let go of me, you�"  
the boy began, before noticing Ray's holster, and the determined look  
on his face. "Uh, third, sir." Ray let go of the boy's arm,  
and he scurried off across the quad, looking back anxiously over his  
shoulder.

        "Thank you kindly,"  
Fraser called after the student, and then turned to follow Ray into the  
building.

*****

        The Philosophy department  
took up half of the third floor, but Ray did not hesitate as he moved  
down halls and through common areas. A few suited professors looked  
up as they passed, and though Fraser wondered whether they might have  
some information on the victim's activities before her disappearance,  
he decided simply to follow Ray's lead for now.

        Ray stopped outside of  
a partly open office door at the end of one corridor. 'Gillian LaPlaca'  
read the nameplate on the door, and a woman's voice could be heard in  
a one-sided conversation within. He reached out and knocked gently on  
the door.

        "Yes, you're welcome.  
Come in?" Ray pushed the door open as the woman within hung up  
her phone and turned to face them. She was slight, in her late thirties,  
with close-cropped blond hair and a pixie face. She tipped her head to  
one side when she saw Ray, holding up her hand. "Wait, don't tell  
me. It's�.Roy? No, Ray. Ray Kowalski! Well, what brings you  
here? It must be years. Eliza's not here Tuesdays. She circled around  
the desk towards them, and Ray stepped forward awkwardly. "You  
 _are_ here to see Eliza, correct?" Gillian smiled at him,  
a smile which faded as Ray did not return it. She glanced over at Fraser.  
"Who's he?"

        "Constable Benton  
Fraser, ma'am, Royal Canadian Mounted Police. I'm afraid we're here  
on business, relating to Ms. Markham. Perhaps you might wish to sit  
down?" The woman crossed her arms over her chest and leaned back  
against he desk, glaring at Fraser.

        "All right, what's  
this about? Get to it!" She looked from Fraser to Ray and back  
again. Before either could speak, her face shifted again, to a look  
of confusion. "It's not�Eliza's all right, isn't she? It's  
not that man�" She stopped, unwilling to go any further.

        "I'm sorry,"  
said Ray, finally looking her in the eye. "We think she got grabbed.  
They found her car and purse in the lot this morning." Gillian's  
body sagged against the desk, and she put one hand over her face. The  
three stood silent for a moment, then Gillian took a deep breath and  
looked up at Ray.

        "You are going to  
find her," she said firmly, and Ray nodded in response. "Then,  
what can I do?"

        "Had Ms. Markham  
mentioned having any difficulties with any of her co-workers or students?  
Was anyone bothering her at all, following her, harassing her in any  
way?" Gillian shook her head no to all of Fraser's questions, her  
fingertips to her mouth as she thought.

        "When'd she leave  
yesterday?" asked Ray.

        "She called me last  
night at about 10 p.m. We were supposed to have dinner tonight, but  
she had to cancel, said she was coming down with something and was swamped  
with work. She was still in her office when she called, but she said  
she was on her way home. I told her to have a good rest and I'd see  
her Wednesday." She paused and then shook her head. "I told  
her to get security to walk her to her car; she said she would, but you  
know how she is. So damn impatient�" Gillian trailed off.  
"I'm sorry, can you give me a minute?" she said, softly, her  
fingers pressed to her forehead.

        Ray fumbled in his pocket  
for a card. "Here, take this. If you think of anything, give me  
a call." He extended the card to her, and then pulled it back,  
digging a pen out of his pocket and writing something on the back. "My  
home number. Anytime. Even if you don't think it's important. Okay?"  
She took the card from his hand and looked at it before nodding and looking  
back at the detective. Her eyes had reddened, though no tears had yet  
escaped.

        "Vecchio?"  
she asked. Ray shrugged, giving her a half-smile.

        "Long story."  
His phone rang, and he moved towards the door. "I'll let you know  
if we find anything." Before she could respond, he slipped into  
the hall. "Vecchio."

        Fraser made his goodbyes  
and followed Ray into the hall, shutting the office door behind him.  
Ray hung up the phone as Fraser approached, and surprised his partner  
with a wicked grin.

        "Westview Hospital  
treated a man this morning, with a four-inch puncture wound in his thigh.  
They're giving Frannie a hard time about releasing info over the phone,  
so we gotta go over there and get it. I knew she got him!"

        "It may not be the  
same man, Ray," Fraser cautioned, but the detective was already  
on the move. Shaking his head, Fraser followed Ray down the hall.

*****

        The hospital's emergency  
room was surprisingly quiet, given its purpose. In the waiting area,  
a woman tried to maintain her composure while her three small children  
shrieked and ran between the chairs. An old man sat patiently, hand  
wrapped in a dishtowel, flipping through an old People magazine.

        Fraser went to the admitting  
desk. "Pardon me, but I'm looking for a Dr. Wedler."

        The clerk gestured with  
her chin at a tall, white-coated man at the other end of the long desk.  
Ray got to him first.

        "You Dr. Wedler?"  
The man nodded. "Detective Vecchio, Chicago P.D. You saw a guy  
this morning with a puncture wound in his leg?"

        "Yes, I did, but  
I have to say I am reluctant to talk to a member of the police without�"

        Ray stepped forward,  
bringing his face close to the doctor's. "Look, buddy, there's  
a guy out there killing women, and you saw him this morning. I don't  
have time for you to play doctor's privilege with me, so spill."  
The doctor stepped back, eyes narrowing.

        "Now, I don't have  
to�" Fraser decided to interrupt before things got out of  
control. He placed a hand on Ray's shoulder, but his partner shrugged  
it off and glared at him. Fraser met his eyes unflinchingly, and after  
a moment Ray turned away, pacing a few steps down the hall.

        "Excuse me, doctor,  
I fully understand your worries as to the legal rights of both yourself  
and your patient. My partner and I are only concerned due to the urgent  
nature of the case. A young woman's life is in danger, and we believe  
the man you saw this morning may be responsible. Your co-operation in  
obtaining his name would be greatly appreciated."

        The doctor hesitated.  
Fraser wondered briefly if any Inuit stories were apropos to the situation.  
Before he could decide, Ray decided to tell a story of his own. Spinning  
back towards Fraser and Webler, Ray pointed a finger at the admissions  
desk. "And if I gotta come back here with a warrant, I'm taking  
everything: every file, piece of paper, garbage can, and phone cord you  
got in this place. And you'll get 'em back when I'm done with 'em, not  
before. Ever run a hospital without paper?" He leaned threateningly  
towards Webler, who gracelessly capitulated. Giving Ray a glare, he  
went to the desk and shuffled through a pile of unfiled charts.

        "Here, name is�.huh."  
The doctor could not hold back a grin. "Name here is John Smith.  
No address given. Sorry, officer, looks like your guy doesn't want to  
be found." He placed the chart back in the stack and smiled pleasantly  
at Ray. "Anything else?" Ray bared his teeth at the doctor,  
who suddenly found something to do down the hall.

        Ray placed both palms  
flat on the admit desk and shook his head slowly. "No name, no  
address, nothing. Now what?" He turned and looked at Fraser pleadingly;  
his changeable eyes had slipped from blue to an empty grey. "Now  
what?"

        "Well, Ray, perhaps  
a canvas of the crime scene will turn up a witness. Perhaps the lab  
will return us some information on the screwdriver." Out of the  
corner of his eye, he noticed a young man dressed neatly in a shirt and  
tie hovering just out of reach. "Pardon me, Ray." Fraser  
turned to the young man, who flinched back but did not flee. "Excuse  
me, but I couldn't help but noticing your interest in our conversation."

        The young man nodded.  
He glanced anxiously over Fraser's shoulder at Ray. "He's not going  
to yell at me next, is he?" Fraser shook his head no, and the man  
continued. "It's just that I shouldn't say anything, really, but  
that guy who came in this morning�I recognized him from before."

        "Before?" prompted  
Fraser gently, hoping that Ray would not enter the conversation and scare  
the young man away. The man nodded, washing his hands in front of him.

        "Yeah, he came in  
about a month ago. I work here, in the filing room, and my girlfriend  
was here, we were going to go to lunch. There's this real nice little  
Chinese place down the street we like to go to." Fraser smiled  
encouragingly, hearing Ray shift from foot to foot behind him. One more  
moment, Ray, he thought. Just one moment.

        "Anyway, so, she  
was here, and this guy came in. He had put a nail through his hand,  
or something, you know, like he was doing home improvements? He made  
Marta � that's my girlfriend � really nervous, the way he kept  
looking at her. She made me rush out of here. But I remembered him  
when he came this morning." He glanced down the hall, and stepped  
in closer to Fraser. "I could look up the file? It might have  
his name. But I'm not supposed to. But if a girl's in trouble�."  
He trailed off, looking at Fraser for assurance.

        "Well, of course  
I couldn't ask you to do something which might endanger your job."  
He felt Ray's hand on his back, tightening in the cloth of his tunic.

        "Maybe," came  
Ray's voice from behind him, "maybe, if you just, y'know�refreshed  
your memory of the guy's name and address, we wouldn't need to see a  
file. 'Cause if you just remembered it�well, that'd be okay, right?"  
The young man grinned, and backed away from Fraser, ducking behind the  
admit desk and into a back room. Fraser felt Ray's hand release him,  
and he turned to face his partner.

        "I'm not sure that  
is entirely legal, Ray." Ray shrugged one shoulder and moved away  
from the desk.

        "You're not gonna  
see a file. I'm not gonna see a file. So what if the kid has a good  
memory, right? C'mon, Fraser," he turned and cocked his head to  
one side. "You just can't look at a gift horse, you gotta take  
it. Take the horse."

        "I think you mean�"  
Fraser began, but the file clerk had reappeared from the back room and  
he sidled up to the constable.

        "Martin Crawford,  
3576 Greenleaf Street. And don't worry, I won't tell them I told you."  
He stepped away quickly, looking once over his shoulder, and then disappearing  
down the hall. Ray was halfway to the car before Fraser caught up with  
him.

        "On our way back  
to the station, in might be valuable to stop at the University, and see  
if campus security has any pertinent information."

        "We're not going  
to the station." Ray unlocked the driver's door and slid gracefully  
in.

        "Well, Ray, first  
we need to try and obtain a warrant to enter Mr. Crawford's premises.  
And as it is, after all, Detective Huey's case, we may wish to involve  
him in the proceedings. Therefore, we need to go to the station."  
Fraser rocked forward in his seat as Ray threw the car into reverse and  
zipped out of the parking spot.

        'No, Fraser, what we  
need to do is go kick this guy's door down. He's got the girl, she's  
in danger, so we don't need a warrant. And Huey can just wait for the  
movie if he wants to know what's happening."

        "Now Ray, be reasonable.  
We have a certain suspicion that Mr. Crawford is involved, but no real  
proof, and though the urgency of the situation is apparent�"

        "I'm not gonna be  
reasonable, I'd rather be right. I know this is the guy, I know she's  
in trouble, and I know I'm not going to the station. And if you wanna  
be reasonable, you can do it somewhere other than my car. Got it?"  
Ray's face wore a determined frown as he wove his way through traffic.  
"Got it, Fraser? My way or the highway."

        Fraser sighed. He was  
unwilling to let his partner face what may indeed be a dangerous criminal  
alone. If Ray is right, he thought, we will save a woman untold suffering,  
and perhaps her life. If Ray is wrong�.he looked again at his partner,  
who was determinedly not looking back.

        "Understood, Ray."

*****

        Crawford had kept quiet,  
even when Ray had kicked in the front door yelling "Chicago P.D.!".  
Even when Ray rampaged through the house, ripping doors open and tipping  
furniture over. Even when Fraser had pulled Ray off of the slight, balding  
man. Crawford had remained almost perfectly silent, except for a small  
grunt as Ray had cuffed him and tossed him into the back of the car.

        Crawford had not been  
impressed by the brief but vicious argument between Huey and Ray over  
who, by rights, should take responsibility for him. Only the Lieutenant's  
intervention had prevented a physical confrontation, and Ray was sent  
to his desk to await the results of the interview. Crawford's only contribution  
to the entire scene was to request, politely but firmly, his lawyer.

        Ray seethed at his desk.  
He could not keep still, rocking in his chair, getting up and pacing  
for a few steps and then flinging himself back into his seat. Fraser  
was quiet, patient, and worried. There had been no indication that anyone  
was being held in the house. No signs of restraints, of danger, of death.  
A neatly kept bachelor's house, with the guest bed made for nonexistent  
company. Fraser felt time was being wasted, and he kept a wary eye on  
Ray. As a result, neither of them noticed Assistant State's Attorney  
Stella Kowalski until she was right in front of the desk.

        "What in the hell  
did you think you were doing?" She spat the words at both of them,  
but her glare was reserved for Ray. He snapped his head back and looked  
at the ceiling, but did not answer. She continued.

        "Have either of  
you heard of a warrant? You know, that piece of paper that prevents  
cops from harassing harmless citizens? Ray? If you had any reason for  
hauling Crawford in here like you just arrested Jack the Ripper, you  
might want to tell me now. Because if you don't," she slammed her  
hand down on Ray's desk, drawing his immediate attention. "If you  
don't, Crawford is out of here."

        Ray leaped to his feet.  
"You can't let him go! He's the guy, if he walks�why the hell  
are you letting him go?" Stella's eyes met his, and held his stare  
until he looked to the side.

        "I'm letting him  
go, _Detective_ , because I can't keep him. You have no evidence.  
None! You got his address from a restricted file, following some sort  
of hunch from a bloodstained screwdriver the lab hasn't even reported  
on yet. Do you have any reason to believe that he got his wound from  
that screwdriver? That he didn't slip in the tub and fall on a pipe?  
Anything?" Ray couldn't meet her eyes. He slipped back into his  
chair and put his head in his hands.

        "It's his blood.  
I know." He looked back up at Stella. "Can't you do anything?"

        She stepped away from  
the desk. "That's not my job, Ray. You get evidence, we'll get  
the guy. Until then�" She turned her back on them and walked  
towards the door.

        Fraser leaned over the  
desk. "Perhaps, Ray, if you told her that you knew the screwdriver  
belonged to�"

        "Shut up, Fraser!"  
Ray hissed at his partner. Fraser sat back, startled. He looked at  
the retreating back of the Assistant State's Attorney, but did not follow  
her.

        "Well, perhaps it  
doesn't matter anyway. After all, there's no evidence yet linking the  
screwdriver to Crawford. The lab report should come up soon."  
He glanced at Ray, who was staring down at his desk. "We may want  
to pay a visit to the morgue. The first woman's body is here, and there  
may be evidence Mort can give us. Ray?" The blond detective looked  
up, not at Fraser, but at Stella, who was in conversation with Welsh  
by the door to the squad room. As if she felt Ray's eyes upon her, Stella  
turned her head and looked back at her ex-husband, and then stepped through  
the doors and out of sight. Welsh came towards Ray's desk.

        "Thanks for your  
help, Vecchio. You've certainly made a simple assignment much more complicated  
than I had thought you could. As a reward, I'm letting you go back to  
your regular work." Ray opened his mouth to protest, but the Lieutenant  
held up his hand. "Don't thank me, just remember me at Christmas.  
Huey and Dewey will handle this, you stay out of it. Far out of it.  
In fact, maybe you should go take a nice long lunch and then stay the  
hell away from the squad room for a while. It'll go better for everyone  
that way."

        Ray rocked back in his  
chair and crossed his arms over his chest. Welsh stepped away from the  
desk. "Constable, take this man out of my squad room before anything  
else interesting happens." As he turned away from the desk, Welsh  
said quietly, "I'm putting a car on your guy. Just in case he does  
anything we could actually pick him up for." Before either Ray  
or Fraser could respond, Welsh had entered conversation with a passing  
detective and moved out of range.

        "Lunch sounds like  
a good idea, Ray. My treat. What do you say?" Ray looked away  
from Welsh and back to Fraser. Without a word, he rose and grabbed his  
jacket. Fraser joined his partner as they left the squad room.

*****

        What had started as a  
bright, if brisk, day, was rapidly becoming gloomy and dark. The two  
men had ended up at a diner a few blocks from the station, Fraser having  
insisted that a walk would do them both a world of good. And though  
Fraser felt a bit more clear-headed, the walk had done nothing for Ray.  
His shoulders had taken on the slump they usually did after a particularly  
long day, and he pushed his fries aimlessly around his plate with his  
pickle. Outside, thunder rumbled, and Ray threw down the pickle in disgust.  
"Typical."

        "What's typical,  
Ray?" Fraser asked, grabbing on to the only conversational thread  
his partner had cast out.

        "Rain. Like that's  
what I really need right now. Why'd you make me walk, anyway? I have  
a perfectly good car at the station. But no, we have to walk. Why?  
Because the Mountie says so." Ray shot a look at Fraser from beneath  
his creased brow. "Why do we always have to do what you want, huh?  
Why can't we ever do it my way?"

        Fraser thought it was  
best not to point out the number of times they had done it Ray's way,  
the most recent being the arrest of Crawford. "Well, Ray, what  
would you like to do?"

        The detective slouched  
back in the booth and crossed his arms over his chest. For a long moment  
he stared out the window, until rain started to fall in small, quick  
drops in the parking lot. Ray looked at his plate, cast a glance at  
Fraser from rain-dark eyes, and then looked back out the window. "Nothing  
Fraser. Not a damn thing I can do." He sucked his teeth for a  
second, and then turned to face his partner. "I screwed this one  
up, didn't I? Screwed it up real good. Now if Crawford's the guy, he  
knows we're watching. We're not going to get him on anything, I can  
feel it."

        "If he's the one?  
I thought you had a hunch, Ray. You seemed quite sure." Fraser  
watched as Ray closed his eyes and let his uncertain thoughts play out  
on his face.

        "I dunno, maybe  
I was going too quick. I really thought I had it, y'know?" He  
leaned forward, putting both elbows on the table and gesturing with his  
hands. "You get going, and you get this feeling, like the whole  
case is this big puzzle, one of those thousand-piece jigsaws. And you  
have a picture of it all in your mind, of how it should look, and you're  
just throwing pieces into place, zip zip. It gets clearer and clearer,  
and then wham, you get it! Or in this case," he said as he leaned  
back again, "Wham, you hit the wall." He blinked his eyes  
open and looked at Fraser. "What?"

        "I didn't say anything,"  
Fraser replied, but Ray shook his head in disagreement.

        "Maybe you didn't,  
but you were gonna. So, what? Say it, ask it, just get to it. C'mon,  
Fraser." Ray let a small grin creep to his lips. "You know  
you can't lie to me."

        Fraser ran the tip of  
his thumb over his eyebrow. "Well, Ray, when I asked a similar  
question earlier, you seemed quite perturbed, so I thought it would be  
best if I�" Ray gave a snort of laughter and cut him off.

        "Perturbed, eh?  
Usually, I get mad, or cranky, or pissed, but perturbed? That's a new  
one." Still grinning, he turned again to face the window. The  
rain had started to come down hard, in the vicious way that only a late-fall  
rain can manage. Ray's breath steamed over a small patch on the window,  
but he didn't seem to notice. The grin disappeared, replaced by a look  
Fraser had seen on a hundred people, telling him a hundred stories of  
their lives. In these stories, memory was the main actor, and they almost  
never had a happy ending.

        "She�I�we�"  
Ray stopped and reached a hand out to the fog on the window. He drew  
a smiley face with one long finger, then quickly wiped it out with his  
palm.

        "You had an affair."  
Fraser did not make it a question. The grin flickered across Ray's face  
again, as cold as the lightning outside.

        "A few years ago.  
Stella and I were going through a bad time; the last bad time, before  
the last real try, before she decided it just wasn't gonna work after  
all. I don't even remember where I met her. That's a lie." A  
small smile slipped into place as he spoke, warm as summer heat lightning.  
"I was getting coffee at some ritzy little place by the University,  
'cause that's where I was when I got off my shift, and I didn't want  
to go home. I tripped over something and spilled the whole cup all over  
her stuff, papers, books, I think some got in her bag." The smile  
was a real one now, but fragile. "Eliza just laughed. She was  
having that kind of day. Stella would've taken my head off for ruining  
her things like that." Ray paused, the smile cracked, and he was  
back in the little diner looking out at the rain.

        "And Stella never  
knew?" Fraser knew the answer to that already.

        "Hell no, are you  
kidding? I don't think she even suspected. She worked really crazy  
hours, and so did I. When we saw each other we either fought, or didn't  
talk at all. So, maybe one night, I get home four hours late. She's  
not asking me where I was, that'd mean we might actually talk about something.  
Maybe I'm acting a little funny." Ray leaned forward, tucking his  
hands under his arms and resting his elbows on the blue and white tabletop.  
"How are you supposed to act when your marriage is falling apart?  
I've never done it before, and neither has Stella, so we just pretend  
we know what we're doing. I'd never have gotten away with it if things  
hadn't been so bad. 'Course, I never would have done it if things had  
been good, right? Cheating: not the sign of a strong relationship.  
I may not be bright, but that I know."

        Fraser hesitated before  
asking the next question, but Ray seemed a bit calmer, as if speaking  
had not only let loose memory, but removed the heavy box it had been  
stored in for years. He tipped his head to the side and watched Ray  
from behind cool blue eyes as he searched for ways to phrase what he  
wanted to ask. They both sat in silence for a few moments until Fraser  
settled on the simplest version. "Why?"

        Ray shrugged and looked  
up at his partner. "No good reason. I guess there is no good reason  
for that kinda thing, just a lot of excuses. And I didn't really think  
about it, try to justify it or anything. I mean, Eliza knew. Wedding  
ring on my hand, she knew. Guess that makes her a homewrecker, right?"  
Ray shook his head. "Not that there was a hell of a lot of home  
left to wreck at that point, which maybe Eliza knew better than Stella  
or me." Ray unwound his arms and reached for the cup of coffee  
cooling on the table. He took a slow sip, swishing it around in his  
mouth like a fine wine. Fraser waited, patiently, for the rest of the  
story.

        "I never had to  
lie to her; Eliza, I mean. You know, all those pathetic my-wife-doesn't-understand-me,  
I'm-getting-a-divorce stupid stories guys tell. Eliza didn't care.  
We were just�" He sipped again and put the cold mug down.  
"We were friends. I mean, not just friends, but friends anyway.  
We went out, I met some of the people she knew, like Gillian. I didn't  
have a lot of time, but a few hours a week, it was like I had a totally  
different, totally normal life. She never asked me for anything more,  
she was way too smart for that." Ray smiled again, and Fraser smiled  
in return, feeling his partner relax from across the table. All too  
soon reality would come back to Ray, and the sweet memory of a moment  
sandwiched within a larger pain would give way to a sickly fear that  
the story might be forever shattered by an ultimately brutal ending.  
Somewhere in Chicago, a clock was ticking for Eliza, and neither he nor  
Ray knew how much time was left.

        "And when it was  
over, it was over. Some friend I was, right? Goodnight Irene. I haven't  
seen her since." He absently picked over his fries, but there were  
no warm ones to be found. "Just as well for her, though. I mean,  
she deserved a hell of a lot better than some sneaky, part-time, half-assed  
guy who couldn't even sleep over. And you can't really stay friends  
after something like that, you know?" Ray glanced up at Fraser,  
who raised his eyebrows and shook his head. "Well, I guess you  
don't know, but trust me, you can't. We should have just been friends  
all along. But it doesn't work like that between men and women. I tell  
you one thing, though," he said, leaning back and looking at Fraser.  
"If we were still friends, I'd never have let her walk alone on  
that damn campus at night. Never."

        The rain had lessened  
slightly, but it still fell without remorse. Ray took a deep breath  
and held it, then exhaled noisily. "You done there, Benton buddy?  
We got stuff to do." Fraser took off his hat and began to count  
out bills to pay the check, as Ray dug in his pocket for his ringing  
phone. "Vecchio."

        As Fraser calculated  
the correct tip, he watched Ray listen to the voice at the other end  
of the line. From where he was sitting, it sounded like Lieutenant Welsh's  
voice, but the pelting of the rain on the window prevented him from hearing  
clearly enough to understand.

        "On our way."  
Ray flicked the phone shut and got to his feet. "They're bringing  
Crawford back in, as a witness. Somebody matching his description was  
seen in the area at around ten that night. Pitter patter, Fraser, let's  
get the hell out of here. I want a crack at this guy before they let  
him go. Again." Ray shrugged on his jacket as Fraser left the  
money for the bill, and the two men headed out into the rain.

*****

        Welsh was already in  
the observation room when Ray and Fraser arrived. The drenching rain  
had plastered Ray's hair to his head, and he shook like a dog when they  
entered the small space, earning a glare from his superior. Through  
the one-way glass, Fraser could see Crawford, sitting alone at the plain  
wooden table. He was a small man, thin and balding, and still possessing  
the same calm demeanor he had shown when Ray had kicked down his door.  
"What's the story?" asked Ray, quietly.

        "He just came in,"  
Welsh replied. "We told him we want to talk to him as a potential  
witness, and he hasn't called his lawyer yet."

        "Good. Then I don't  
have to wait to go in." Ray made a move for the door, but Welsh  
grabbed him with one large hand.

        "Not on your life,  
Vecchio. The guy sees you, he'll clam right up. We're going to give  
Dewey a shot at him first, since he's talked to you and Huey already.  
Maybe he'll mistake Dewey for a nice guy, and actually say something  
this time." He let go of Ray, who stepped away from the door and  
moved to stand beside Welsh. Fraser removed his wet hat and shook it  
to remove the beaded raindrops, as Dewey entered the interrogation room.

        The questioning went  
rather as Fraser had expected. Constrained by the previous actions of  
his fellow detectives, Dewey asked a series of straightforward questions,  
which Crawford answered with a small, condescending smile. Yes, he had  
been at the University on the night in question, he often walked at night  
for his health. No, he had not been in that parking lot, nor had he  
seen Eliza Markham. No, he had not seen anyone about, other than a few  
students he would not recognize again. Looking across Welsh, Fraser  
could see Ray beginning to rock back and forth in place. He sympathized  
with his partner. Clearly, Dewey did not want to prompt Crawford into  
calling his attorney, but as a result, the interview was turning out  
to be useless.

        "Gimme five minutes,"  
Ray muttered to Welsh. The lieutenant shook his head. Ray ran a hand  
through his drying hair, and turned away from the window.

        In the other room, Dewey  
sighed. "Mr. Crawford, can you tell me why you didn't tell the  
police this information when you came in before?" Crawford's smile  
expanded a bit, and he leaned forward in his chair.

        "I'm sorry, officer,  
but given the rather abrupt way I arrived at the station last time, I  
thought anything I said�might be taken the wrong way." He  
leaned back and shifted his gaze to his reflection in the one-way glass.  
"And after all, I know nothing about what happened to that poor  
woman." Crawford paused, and then looked back at Dewey. "May  
I go now?"

        "Just a minute,"  
replied the detective, getting up from his seat and leaving the room.  
He entered the observation room, scratching his head. "Now what,  
Lieutenant? If I press the guy, he's going to scream harassment."  
He glanced sideways at Ray. "Which might be fair, considering what  
he's already put up with today." Ray ignored Dewey's remark and  
stepped close behind Welsh.

        "C'mon, Lieutenant,  
just a few minutes. I'll play nice, I swear. We're just gonna have  
to let him go anyway, since _somebody_ couldn't get anything outta  
him." Dewey opened his mouth to respond to Ray's insult, but Welsh  
interrupted.

        "I don't want to  
do this, but I don't want to let him go. The guy's so calm he's making  
my skin crawl. Okay, Vecchio, you get your chance. But," Welsh  
added as Ray headed for the door. "I want this by the book, and  
if he asks for his lawyer, it's over. Got it?" Ray nodded a response  
as he slipped out the door, Dewey right behind him.

        It was a few moments  
before Ray entered the interrogation room alone. Crawford looked up  
questioningly, frowning when he saw the detective.

        "I'm not under arrest  
again, am I, Detective? If so, you should contact my lawyer."  
Ray shook his head and said nothing, walking behind Crawford and then  
leaning against the wall across from the door. He stood there a moment,  
arms crossed, watching Crawford in silence. Crawford looked fixedly  
ahead of him, not even glancing at the detective to his right. Ray drew  
in a deep breath and let it out slowly.

        "It's too bad you  
didn't see anything. I mean, you're sure? Nobody suspicious, nobody  
acting funny?" Ray stepped away from the wall and crossed behind  
Crawford again, moving to stand by the door. Crawford shook his head  
slowly.

        "As I told the other  
detective, I saw a few students, just walking along the paths. If any  
of them were responsible, I couldn't have known. It was a very quiet  
evening." He looked over at Ray, who was looking down at his feet.  
Another moment passed before Ray spoke again.

        "Well, I guess if  
you didn't see anything, you didn't, right? Anyway, that's not why I'm  
here." Ray moved forward and put his hands on the table, leaning  
in as if he was about to share a secret with the other man.

        The door to the observation  
room opened, and Stella Kowalski entered quietly. "I was in the  
squad room, and Dewey told me you have Crawford again." She caught  
sight of Ray in the other room and a look of surprise crossed her face.  
"What the hell�" Welsh held up a hand as Ray began to  
speak.

        "I wanted to apologize  
for what happened before. I was a little out of line." Crawford  
looked startled for a moment, and then the satisfied smile began to spread  
across his thin lips. He looked up at Ray, who grinned a rueful little  
grin back.

        "Well, Detective,  
it's nice to hear someone admit his mistakes for a change. Good for  
you. Shall I contact you when I get the bill for the repairs to my home?"  
Ray didn't respond, standing and walking towards the one-way mirror.  
As he turned away from Crawford, the grin left his face, and Fraser could  
see the tension in the set of Ray's jaw. Separated by the reflective  
glass, both of them watched Crawford, who had relaxed visibly from when  
Ray had entered the room. At Fraser's side, Stella leaned close to Welsh.

        "Get him out of  
there before he does something stupid," she muttered in Welsh's  
ear. Clearly, she had also recognized the look on Ray's face. Fraser  
and Welsh exchanged a glance, and then the three looked back into the  
interrogation room. Ray turned to face Crawford again.

        "I'm just a little  
too personally involved in this case. This woman, Eliza Markham�I  
know her. We were pretty close, I guess you'd say." Ray had caught  
Crawford's interest, and the man's eyebrows drew close together in suspicion.  
In the observation room, Fraser saw a puzzled look cross Stella's face,  
and he wished vainly he could tell his partner that she was present.

        Ignorant of the size  
of his audience, Ray began to circle the table again. He was directly  
behind Crawford when he stopped suddenly, looking down at the seated  
man. Ray's lips began to curl back, until a truly feral smile had appeared  
on his face. Fraser could see his blue eyes glinting from across the  
room, and wondered what it was that Ray had thought of or seen that had  
caused this reaction. Crawford began to fidget in his seat, but before  
he could turn around, Ray had moved on. He returned to his place by  
the door, and leaned against it, hands in his jacket pockets. Ray appeared  
totally relaxed, as if he and Crawford were having a casual conversation  
at a bus stop, but the tension in the observation room was high. The  
silence was getting to all of them, and even Fraser found himself shifting  
from side to side as he waited for Ray to say something.

        "We had a lot of  
fun, me and Eliza. I remember this one time, there was a black-out;  
it was summer and I guess everyone had their air conditioning going full  
blast, 'till the system just couldn't take it. Half the city was out,  
no TV, radio, nothing. She did these, whaddaya call them? Shadow puppets,  
yeah." Ray took his hands out of his pockets and linked his thumbs  
together, shaping a fluttering bird with his fingers. "We told  
all these stupid stories, like we were at summer camp. Yeah, she was  
great." Ray grinned at Crawford, who cautiously returned the smile.

        In the observation room,  
Stella had gone perfectly still, her face expressionless. Fraser hoped  
that she was only worried about the strange approach Ray seemed to be  
taking with Crawford, and was not doing mental math, trying to place  
the black-out in her and Ray's own personal chronology.

        "I can see why you'd  
be concerned," offered Crawford, and Ray nodded as if the man had  
just said something very profound. The bird of Ray's hands fluttered  
once more, before the detective dropped them to his sides and stood straight.

        "She had this great  
long hair, a real dark brown color. I remember what it looked like,  
how soft it was. But there was this thing about it that drove me crazy,  
absolutely nuts." Ray moved again to stand behind Crawford, whose  
face had set in an almost exasperated expression. Ray leaned forward  
until he was almost speaking in Crawford's ear.

        "Her hair,"  
said Ray softly, "would get _everywhere_." With that,  
he reached out and pulled a long strand of hair off of Crawford's jacket  
shoulder and dangled it in front of the smaller man's face. "You  
wanna tell me where this came from?"

        Crawford's face became  
still. "I want my lawyer."

        "After the lab gets  
done with this, you're gonna need him," Ray replied. "Why  
don't' you save us the trouble of ripping your place up again and just  
tell me where the hell she is?" He was still behind Crawford, and  
he placed his free hand on the seated man's shoulder. "Huh? Fess  
up, buddy, and it'll all go easier for you. Or you wanna do it the hard  
way?"

        Ray's knuckles whitened  
as he tightened his grip on Crawford, who shoved the table away and twisted  
out of Ray's grasp. "Don't you touch me," he hissed, backing  
away from Ray like a trapped rat. The wild grin had returned to Ray's  
face, and he advanced on the smaller man until Crawford whirled and pressed  
himself against the one-way glass. "I want my lawyer!" he  
cried again, banging on the glass with one fist. Grinning, Welsh headed  
out of the observation room, Fraser following, leaving Stella alone in  
the dark.

        Ray was in the hall,  
ticking things off on his fingers. "I want a warrant, I want this  
hair taken to the lab, and I want Crawford squeezed until he pops. He's  
got to have her at his place, somewhere, now we can get in and really  
look around." Welsh took the hair from Ray's fingers and examined  
it suspiciously.

        "You don't get anything  
until the lab checks this out." He passed the hair off to Dewey,  
who took it gingerly. "Get a uniform over to Ms. Markham's house  
to get her hairbrush. If it matches, then we get the warrant. We'll  
hold Crawford until then." He looked back at Ray. "You better  
be right on this one, Detective, though how the hell you can tell it's  
her hair is beyond me."

        "It's hers. I don't  
know how many times�" He trailed off as Stella stepped out  
of the observation room behind Welsh. She met Ray's eyes for a moment,  
before he was forced to look away. "At least, I'm pretty sure.  
They all had long dark hair, we should check them all, maybe."  
Stella snorted and shook her head scornfully.

        "Call me when you  
make the arrest, Lieutenant." Stella turned and began to move off  
down the hall. Ray squeezed past Welsh and caught up with her at the  
corner.

        "Look, Stella,"  
he began. She whipped around to face him and he took a step back, bumping  
awkwardly against the wall.

        "You're on a case,  
Detective. I suggest you focus on your work. And try not to screw it  
up this time. I don't want to come back down here unless you've arrested  
the right person." Ray recognized her tone of voice from past conversations,  
regarding cases of hers which had gone wrong, had slipped out of her  
control, and he nodded slowly, saying nothing. She stepped away from  
him and continued down the hall, more slowly this time. He watched her  
retreating back until a bellow from Welsh summoned him back to the squad  
room.

        "Problem, Detective?"  
Welsh asked.

        Ray shrugged. "Nossir,  
no problem. If we can't search the house, what do you want me to do?"

        "Get what you can  
on Crawford, and be ready to go when we get a report from the lab. Or  
maybe we'll get lucky," he added over his shoulder. "Maybe  
he'll confess." The lieutenant disappeared into his office, Huey  
hot on his heels.

        Fraser tried to catch  
Ray's eye. "Everything all right, Ray?" His partner ignored  
him and crossed to Frannie's desk. She was idly leafing through Vogue,  
as if she had not been eavesdropping at all.

        "Frannie, I need  
you to get whatever you can on this Crawford guy. Parking tickets, warrants,  
property taxes, whatever there is. Think you can manage that?"  
His tone stung her, and she slapped the magazine shut.

        "Gosh, Ray, I can  
try. Maybe this here computer-thingie will have something, what do you  
think?" Her sarcasm was in vain, as Ray had gone back to his desk  
before she could finish her speech. Fraser gave her a friendly smile,  
and she turned her full-wattage smile on him. "Some people can  
be so thoughtless, don't you think? I mean, not you of course, Fraser.  
You could never be thoughtless."

        "Thank you, Francesca.  
I do try to be considerate at all times. But I don't think Ray meant  
to hurt your feelings. He's gotten a bit wrapped up in this case."  
Fraser sat down in the chair by Frannie's desk. Despite the danger of  
leaving himself in close proximity to her, he felt it was best to give  
Ray a little time alone. He could see his partner sitting at his desk,  
head in his hands.

        "Well, he can apologize  
later. Let's see, warrants, parking tickets�well, that I can do,  
but not property taxes. He doesn't really need that, does he? I mean,  
why would you need to know�Fraser?" She turned to check on  
her silent companion to see that he had slipped away, heading towards  
Ray's corner of the room. "Well, it's not considerate to walk off  
when someone's talking to you," she muttered, turning back to her  
computer screen.

        "Ray, we need to  
go. Ray. Ray. Ray." The detective was still in quiet regard  
of his desk blotter. "Ray. I think I know where she is."

        Sudden motion at the  
desk. "Then why the hell are we sitting here? C'mon, buddy, let's  
hop." Ray was up out of his seat and moving in seconds, and for  
the twentieth time that day, Fraser found himself rushing to catch up.

        "Ray, we may still  
need a warrant. We can't just � Ray!" He grabbed his partner  
by the arm and spun him around. They both stood for a moment, equally  
surprised at Fraser's action. The confused look on Ray's face began  
to slide into frustration and anger, and Fraser knew what he had to say  
might only make him more angry. But this was too delicate a situation  
to let Ray go running in head first, and Fraser took a deep breath before  
speaking in a low tone. "I know you want to go out there and find  
her; I do too. But if we make another misstep, it will only cause trouble.  
Crawford's not under arrest yet, and there is no lab report on the hair."  
Ray shook his head in disbelief and tried to move towards the door, only  
to find that the Mountie had not yet let go of his arm.

        "Lemme go, Fraser."  
Cold blue eyes locked onto Fraser's own.

        "I will Ray, when  
you understand that if we screw this up, if that hair isn't hers, we  
may lose Crawford for good. We can't just kick the door down."

        "Lemme go, Fraser,"  
Ray repeated, quietly, stepping a bit closer to his partner.

        "And if I am wrong  
about where she is�Ray, you have to be calm. Promise me you won't  
do anything rash. Promise me." Fraser held his breath, and wished  
he had gotten hold of Ray's right arm, preventing the punch he was afraid  
was coming.

        "I promise that  
if you don't let go of me, I'm gonna lay you out on this floor."  
Ray's body tensed, and Fraser braced himself, but did not let go, and  
did not look away. He could see anger darken Ray's eyes, and he regretted  
having said anything. Then the tension ran out of Ray's body like water  
downriver, and Ray's face cleared. "Fine, fine. I promise."  
Fraser loosened his grip on Ray's arm, and his partner pulled away.

        "Thank you, Ray,"  
Fraser said quietly.

        "Yeah, whatever.  
But why tell me you know something, if we can't do anything about it?  
What kinda sick joke is that?" Ray leaned back against the desk  
behind him, regarding Fraser coldly.

        "We can do something,  
Ray, we just have to do it right. I saw a photograph on the wall of  
Crawford's house. It looked like the one of the summer cabins they have  
out in Great Woods State Park, by the lake. It's possible that if Crawford  
has the two women, he may be keeping them out there, since we saw no  
signs of them at his house." Ray was looking at him oddly.

        "Fraser, there's  
gotta be a hundred cabins out there on the lake. If we can't knock down  
his door, we sure can't knock them all down, and nobody's gonna be out  
there this late in the season."

        "I think I could  
recognize it if I saw it again. Without a warrant we may not be able  
to do much, but�" Ray cut him off, completing Fraser's thought.

        "But if we hear  
anything or think there's someone inside in danger, we can go in. Fraser,  
you're a genius. Let's go." Ray headed out the door, and Fraser  
followed patiently.

        "We don't go in  
unless I say so." Ray stopped still in the hall, not turning around.

        "You telling me  
how to do my job?" The edge was back in his voice, and Fraser sighed  
at his partner's volatility.

        "No, Ray, I would  
never do that. Let's just say it might be wiser not to be hasty, and  
as I tend to be less hasty than you, well�you see my point?"

        Silence. Then, "Okay,  
Fraser, whatever. Can we get the hell out of here now, please?"

        "Of course, Ray."

*****

        It had taken a couple  
of hours of slow cruising up and down the narrow dirt roads that wound  
through the state park before Fraser identified what he thought was Crawford's  
summer cabin. A peculiar gathering of rocks sat to the side of the front  
door of the small wooden building, matching those in the photo on Crawford's  
wall. "I can't be perfectly sure, Ray," said Fraser, "but  
it seems to be the same one."

        "Good enough for  
me," answered Ray, anxious to stop driving and start doing. A phone  
call to the precinct a half and hour before had gotten them only bad  
news. Though the lab was still working on the hair, and hoped to have  
a report within a couple of hours, a second body had been found in the  
city. Huey and Dewey had already been to the scene, and believed that  
it was the body of the second woman to be kidnapped, but it would be  
a little time before she could be positively identified. Now, with two  
of the three missing women having turned up dead, it was more important  
than ever that Crawford be the right suspect. Otherwise, valuable time  
was being wasted, and they were no closer to the truth.

        Ray pulled up next to  
the cabin and turned off the engine, leaving the lights on to cut through  
the gathering darkness. It was still drizzling a bit as they got out  
of the car, and the rain earlier in the day had turned the small parking  
area in front of the building into a swamp. The cabin sat on a small  
clearing in the midst of tall trees, perhaps a hundred yards from the  
banks of Lake Michigan. Other cabins could be seen through the trees,  
and all looked deserted. The woods were silent, except for the sounds  
of gentle rain, and the ticking of the cooling car engine.

        Ray hunched his shoulders  
against the rain. "You go right, I'll go left. Yell if you find  
anything." Fraser nodded, and they split to circle the building.  
Fraser peered through the window to the right of the front door, but  
could see little through the streaked and grimy glass. He moved around  
the corner of the cabin to the next window, which was a bit cleaner.  
The cabin was dark inside, the only light coming from the four small  
windows, one on each side of the building. The cabin was only one room,  
unfurnished, and with no visible upper story. Fraser stood at the window  
a moment, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness around him.

        "See anything?"  
Ray joined him at the window. Fraser shook his head, still examining  
the dark room. "Dammit. C'mon, Fraser, you have eyes like a bat."  
Fraser didn't answer, and Ray groaned. "Ahh, to hell with it, I'm  
going in." Fraser reached out and grabbed his partner's arm firmly,  
bringing him up short.

        "Do you hear that?"  
Ray looked at Fraser, and shook his head.

        "I hear rain. Why,  
you hear something? Eliza!" Ray hammered on the window frame with  
one gloved fist. "Eliza, you in there?"

        "Be quiet, Ray!"  
Fraser snapped. Ray stopped his pounding, and held still, listening  
hard. A minute passed in silence.

        "Fraser, I don't�"  
Ray began, but Fraser was moving away from him, and around to the front  
door. Ray followed, slogging through the mud that had gathered along  
the side of the building. When he reached the front of the cabin, Fraser  
was trying the door, with no luck.

        "Is this it, Fraser?"  
Ray asked. "Can I kick the door in now?" Fraser nodded and  
stepped away from the sturdy wooden door.

        It took two well-placed  
kicks before the lock gave and the door flew open. The two men burst  
into the room, and Fraser went immediately to one section of the floor.  
He began to pry at the boards with his fingers, lifting them away with  
surprising ease. Ray joined him, peering down into the hole at his feet.  
Inside, a woman lay curled on her side, wrists and ankles bound. Long  
dark hair fell over her face, and the white of a cloth gag could be seen  
tied around her head. She was rhythmically kicking her feet against  
a bit of flooring.

        "Eliza!" Ray  
reached into the hole, and with Fraser's help, lifted the woman out.  
Moving carefully, they placed her on the floor, and Ray pushed her hair  
away to reveal a pale, frightened face. Ray gently tugged the gag out  
of her mouth, and she gave a huge, gasping breath. Fraser retrieved  
his pocketknife from his uniform and began to cut away the rope which  
bound her wrists. Ray's eyes had not left her face, as she looked wildly  
about the room, at Fraser, and then back at Ray.

        "Is that you?"  
Eliza asked wonderingly, beginning to laugh. Ray reached out both hands  
to steady her, as she began to shake. "Ray? We have to stop�"  
She put her newly freed hands to her face, her laughter turning to sudden  
tears. "We have to stop meeting like this�" Her words  
were lost in hysterical sobs, and Ray pulled her towards him, rocking  
her against his chest.

        "Shh, Eliza, it's  
gonna be okay." Ray murmured over and over into her hair. Fraser  
pulled Ray's phone out of his jacket pocket and stood, moving to the  
open door and looking out at the rain as he dialed.

        "Francesca? We  
found her. She's alive."

*****

        Ray stood for a moment  
outside the apartment door. It was nearly midnight, but a bit of light  
shone from under the door, and he could hear music playing quietly within.  
He raised his hand to knock, and then let it drop to his side as he gathered  
his thoughts. He was exhausted. He and Fraser had stayed at the hospital  
until the doctor had finished with Eliza. She was physically unharmed,  
beyond a little bruising and dehydration, but the strain of her experience  
had taken its toll. Quiet and weak, Eliza had given a short statement  
about her abduction to Huey, while Ray stood by in case the questions  
upset her again.

        Afterwards, he and Fraser  
had sat with her at the hospital until Gillian arrived to take her home.  
She had said little in that time, and could muster only a nod and a smile  
when Ray had promised he would check in on her the next day. After Eliza  
had gone, Ray had dropped Fraser off at the Consulate and headed back  
to the station to finish the paperwork on the case. Crawford had been  
arrested, but had not confessed, and refused to speak to anyone but his  
lawyer. The lab had matched the hair on Crawford's jacket to that on  
Eliza's brush, and Welsh was certain that there would be a conviction.  
"Besides, we've done our part," he had said to Ray. "The  
rest is up to the lawyers."

        "The lawyers,"  
Ray said to himself, and then knocked on the door before he could change  
his mind.

        Stella was dressed in  
a t-shirt and sweatpants, and held a beer in one hand. She looked at  
Ray without speaking, her cornflower blue eyes cool and tired. Ray glanced  
down to his feet, and when he looked back up, she had stepped away from  
the door, leaving it open. He followed her into the room, closing the  
door behind him. A cool breeze came in through an open window, smelling  
of lake and city and fallen leaves. Stella went to stand by that window,  
looking out over the city, and taking a long draw from her bottle.

        "I'm sorry,"  
Ray began, and then didn't know where to go next. "Stella. I'm  
sorry."

        Stella shook her head,  
but said nothing. Ray watched her back, reading her thoughts in the  
line of her narrow shoulders. Years of marriage had given them the skill  
to talk, to fight, and even to make up, without saying a word aloud.  
Despite the divorce, Ray still felt attuned to Stella, perhaps even better  
now that the static caused by their breakup had disappeared. He waited  
patiently for her to speak.

        "What are you sorry  
for, Ray?" She turned and faced him, crossing her slender arms  
across her chest. "For doing it? For getting away with it? For  
not telling me to my face?" She walked closer to him, eyes narrowed.  
Stopping a few feet away, she examined him, as if she were reading the  
answer to her questions in his posture.

        This time, he did not  
look away, and their eyes locked for a long moment. Then she turned  
away again, huffing out a breath in disgust. "Honestly, Ray. Only  
you would come here to apologize, when it's far too late, for something  
you did years ago. We're divorced; get over it. None of this matters  
now." She finished her beer in a swallow and went into the kitchen.  
Ray could hear the fridge door open, and the clink of bottles within.  
When she didn't reappear, he went to the kitchen door.

        "Of course it matters.  
I still owe you an apology. We were married then, it was�"  
he paused. "It was an affair, and I was wrong. And I'm sorry."

        "Oh, an affair!"  
Stella was leaning against the kitchen counter, and she gestured with  
her beer as she spoke. "Not a one-night stand? Not a tawdry encounter  
in a bar? An actual _affair._ How wonderful that must have been  
for you." Ray tried to speak, but Stella continued. "Was  
she sympathetic when you told her about your horrible marriage? About  
your bitch of a wife? Did she ever complain when you came home late,  
when you didn't call, when you had a bad day at work and took it out  
on her? I bet she didn't. I bet she was just an absolute sweetie."  
She spat out the last words, her pretty face red with anger.

        Ray realized he was holding  
his breath, and let it out slowly. "I didn't talk about you. I  
didn't think that was fair." He shook his head at how foolish that  
sounded. "You and me�we were just fighting. Not that it's  
your fault," he added quickly, watching Stella as she rested her  
bottle against her flushed cheek. "It was all me. I know I was  
stupid, and I know I should have told you. You never should have found  
out like this. I'm sorry," he finished, rubbing his hand over his  
face.

        "You really are,  
aren't you?" she asked wonderingly. "Even now, when it can't  
make any difference between you and me, you're sorry. I can't tell if  
that's pathetic or noble." Stella's voice was gentle, though her  
words were still cold; clearly she knew the answer to her own question.

        "Stella, don't.  
I don't have to be here, y'know." He looked her straight in the  
eye. "You obviously still care, is that pathetic too?" At  
that, she looked away, pushing past him and going back to the open window.  
He followed her, stopping close enough behind her to smell the traces  
of her perfume.

        "Go home, Ray,"  
she said, without turning. Ray reached his hand towards her shoulder,  
and then thought better of it. He backed away from Stella, unwilling  
to take his eyes off her until he was partway out the door.

        "Ray?" He  
stopped in the doorway and turned to face her. She was looking over  
her shoulder at him, her face cool and pale once more. "Is she  
going to be all right?" Ray nodded, and she turned back to the  
window. "Good. That's good."

        "I'm sorry,"  
he said to her back. He could see her shoulders sag, as she leaned against  
the window frame.

        "I know, Ray,"  
she replied quietly. He closed the door behind him as he left.  



End file.
